


Of Lessons in Batting Practice and Family Bonds

by SingARoundelay



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Because we need more Jason/Whizzer bonding, Falsettos Secret Snowman, M/M, featuring Jason/Whizzer bonding, it’s a fluffy fic I swear!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 08:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13096446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingARoundelay/pseuds/SingARoundelay
Summary: Just another Saturday afternoon spent at the batting cages — because the Mets’ star baseball player is definitely going to give his not-son Jason pointers. But in the end, it’s Jason who teaches Whizzer a lesson in what makes a blended family.—Whizzer chuckles. “Go take care of your hand. I need that thing later so make sure it’s not broken. Otherwise it’s gonna be a hellish six weeks of teaching you to use your left hand.”“EW GROSS!” Jason drops the bat and clamps his hands over his ears. “La-la-la-la I can’t hear you.”“He means to write with!” Marvin says, wiping away tears. Whizzer isn’t sure if they’re tears of pain, laughter, or a mixture of both.





	Of Lessons in Batting Practice and Family Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> Gift for @insertmusicalquotehere as part of the 2017 Falsettos Secret Snowman.

“I swear to god, you must be the only baseball wife who despises baseball.”

Marvin shoots a death glare at Whizzer across the back of their black sedan. Christ he isn’t used to someone _driving_ him places (though he doesn’t miss navigating NYC traffic on a Saturday afternoon either). Jason has his face pressed to the tinted window, staring at the city as it crawls away from view. Marvin reaches across Whizzer to readjust his son’s over-the-ear headphones. 

Surprisingly, the ‘wife’ comment doesn’t annoy him—though it would have once upon a time. He cuts off a snappy retort because it’s a new driver and he doesn’t want to make the front page of some gossip rag yet again because the guy doesn’t understand sarcasm. 

For the record, it isn’t that he _despises_ baseball. About two years ago he would have agreed with Whizzer’s ‘despise’ assessment — now it’s mellowed to what he calls a healthy dislike for the sport. Granted, it’s hard to openly hate the sport one’s husband happens to be a star outfielder in. (Marvin still can’t believe he was actually up for MVP least season. Seriously, what is his life right now?) Thanks to Whizzer’s cushy salary with a bunch of zeroes behind a single digit, Marvin was able to quit his much-loathed job at the accounting firm and has been able to spend more time with Jason. Their relationship has flourished because of it.

He’s even thought about going back to school and picking up a masters in… something. Though what exactly he’d study is still a mystery. It’s been years since he’s been able to do things he wanted to do or even something he’s had a passing interest in. No longer trying to fit his life into some predefined mold, bring home the bacon, and support himself and his son.

It’s freeing and frightening all at the same time.

Marvin still finds the sport boring — not to mention Whizzer’s fame can be a touch restrictive. Hence why they’re in a car and not taking the train. Marvin still isn’t used to people coming up to them—well, Whizzer, really—and wanting a photo or an autograph. On the street is one thing… but when he and Whizzer are trying to have a quiet dinner just the two of them, it’s fucking annoying.

But, he supposes, it’s a small price to pay for being married to the first openly-gay baseball player in Major League Baseball who’s become quite a role model for the LGBT youth.

Instead of responding with protestations that he likes the sport just fine, Marvin instead leans over and gives his husband a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for taking Jason to the batting cages today.”

Whizzer flashes him a brilliant grin in return. “Of course. What sort of a ball player would I be if I didn’t at least take him out and work on his hitting?”

Marvin tilts his head. _The kind who is smart enough not to get my kid’s hopes up that he’ll actually be coordinated enough to play ball with a lot of practice?_ He swallows the retort back down. He’s been trying to be less of an asshole lately with about a 65% success rate. Which is better than zero.

And today in the car he’s batting a thousand. _Look, Whizzer! A baseball reference. Aren’t you proud?_

“Hey Whizzer, are we going to the field today?” Jason asks, flicking off one of his headphones and tearing his gaze away from the window.

“Not today, kiddo.”

“Aw man.”

“I told you that was a bad idea,” Marvin chides. “He can’t always go to Citi field and run the bases.”

“It was a _great_ idea, what are you talking about?” Whizzer says, ruffling Jason’s hair. “And he can — except when they’re reseeding the outfield.”

“Yeah, Dad, it was a great idea,” Jason parrots, sticking his tongue out. “Whizzer’s ideas are the _best_.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Whizzer glances at Marvin. “You can walk to New Rochelle, then. It’s only about twenty miles or so from here. Driver! You can pull over—” He breaks off when Marvin clamps a hand over Whizzer’s mouth. One arched brow and several stolen kiss es later—Jason making ‘ick gross’ sounds at his dad being grossly in love—Marvin is properly mollified. “That’s what I thought. Now.” Whizzer turns his attention to Jason. “Why don’t we talk a bit about your stance and what we need to fix okay?”

Marvin slouches as talk of baseball fills the car. It’s his turn to be quiet and watch the city disappear into the distance. As he settles against Whizzer, he feels the other man slip a hand into his, squeezing. With the sounds of his son and lover chatting animatedly buzzing in his ear, Marvin lets himself drift.

Funny how much could change in a year.

And even if it means he has to put up with baseball games and all the trappings of fame, Marvin wouldn’t change anything for the world.

***

“Jason, you gotta stand a little closer to the plate.”

“He’s gonna get hit by the ball.”

Whizzer pinches the bridge of his nose, then promptly jumps out of the way of the next pitch before it can connect with his shoulder. So he miscounted the number of balls the machine had already thrown. Big deal. Marvin, however is not going to let him hear the end of this.

“I rest my case.”

Yep. Predictable Marvin. 

Whizzer rolls his eyes at his lover. “Yes, dear. Because me standing over the plate directly in the path of the pitch is absolutely the same as standing too close to it.”

“You were still nearly hit by the ball.”

“And I’ve also _been_ hit by them too. On many an occasion. Since the Yanks are obsessed with throwing at my head and all.”

“Don’t remind me. I nearly throttled Tanaka the last time he did it. Remind me why there are so many subway series?”

“Because it sells tickets. Now shut up. I’m trying to work here.”

Whizzer turns back to Jason, tuning out the running commentary from the peanut gallery. For someone who claims to hate baseball, Marvin has become a quasi-expert in certain areas of the game. _Plus_ Marvin hasn’t missed a game in over a year either. Not that Whizzer would _ever_ point out such a thing. He’ll let Marvin keep his delusions and enjoy glancing up at the players’ family section of the stands to see Marvin cheering and shouting at the umps like everyone else. 

It’s been his favorite part of the game since they started dating.

As for Jason and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad batting practice...

Well, Jason isn’t going to be lining up for baseball scholarships any time soon is the kind way of describing his skills. But the kid likes to play baseball and this has always felt like one of the few things he could bond with the kid over. (Especially since Whizzer hates chess about as much as Marvin loathes baseball.)

“Keep your legs just under your shoulders and keep your eye on the ball. I know it feels like it’s coming at you fast, but you can slow it down in your mind. Just breathe.”

Jason nods, looking down at his feet and making a slight adjustment. Whizzer drops a few more quarters into the machine and it begins to spit balls out. He comes close a few times, either swinging the bat too early or too late — but he’s starting to look a bit more natural. So it’s a start. Now if he could just get the boy to—

_CRACK!_

When he’s not paying attention, Jason makes contact with the ball. It’s on the upper side of the bat and, as a result, the ball skips off and flies backwards — right to where Marvin’s fingers are laced through the chain link fence.

“Mother fu—”

Whizzer’s proud of Marvin’s restraint to not shout out a litany of profanity.

“You okay, baby?”

Marvin gingerly untwines his fingers and gives them an experimental flex. “I think so. Doesn’t feel like anything’s broken. Gonna go see if I can scrounge up some ice from somewhere to keep the swelling down. You guys gonna be okay on your own?”

Whizzer chuckles. “Go take care of your hand. I need that thing later so make sure it’s not broken. Otherwise it’s gonna be a hellish six weeks of teaching you to use your left hand.”

“EW GROSS!” Jason drops the bat and clamps his hands over his ears. “La-la-la-la I can’t hear you.”

“He means to write with!” Marvin says, wiping away tears. Whizzer isn’t sure if they’re tears of pain, laughter, or a mixture of both.

“No I don’t.”

“No he doesn’t.”

Whizzer and Jason speak in unison, and promptly burst out laughing, while Marvin looks like he wants to get swallowed up by the pavement. Giving up on salvaging what little reputation he has left, Marvin mutters something unintelligible as he walks away—and Whizzer takes that opportunity to tilt his head and admire Marvin’s ass in his jeans. Thank god he finally convinced his husband to ditch those ridiculous khakis in favor of something a bit more form-fitting. Now if he could only get him to stop wearing those ridiculous polo shirts he’d be all set.

“Ew, Whizzer.”

A hint of a blush creeps into Whizzer’s cheeks. He’s not embarrassed at being caught staring. But he is still getting used to this whole family dynamic thing and the fact that he probably shouldn’t openly oogle one of Marvin’s best features in front of his ten-year-old son. No, not his son. Marvin’s. Whizzer never asked Jason to call him dad nor did he ever try to parent the kid beyond a few well-placed ‘go to bed or take a bath, your choice.’ Jason has enough father-figures in his life between Marvin and Mendel that he felt like three would be overwhelming.

“Sorry, kiddo. Can’t help myself sometimes.”

“It’s okay. I get it. I… think…”

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“If you say so,” Jason says, scrunching up his nose.

Whizzer laughs then, crouching in front of Jason and puts his hands on his hips. Back to baseball, stat! “Hey that was a good swing! You even made contact that time!” he says, eager to change the topic of conversation away from Marvin’s ass. “But you’re going to keep getting those pop-ups and foul tips if you chop at the ball like that. Remember: you have to swing through it.”

“That’s what I did.”

“If you did, you wouldn’t have hit your dad.”

“He shouldn’t have had his hands through the fence like that.”

“Point taken,” Whizzer says, biting down hard on his lip to keep from laughing again. “But my point still stands. You think I’d have hit fifty-five home runs last year if I’d have chopped at the ball?”

Jason scuffs his feet. “No, but—”

“No buts about it. Now,” Whizzer rises to his feet, making a few adjustments to Jason’s hands and torso to get him into a better hitting stance. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

He puts more coins in the machine, setting the pitch to the slowest speed. The first six pitches zoom past Jason without him even attempting to swing the bat. Instead, the boy is staring at Whizzer where he leans up against the fence.

“What is it?” Whizzer asks, frowning. “I thought slower would help you see the pitches better?”

Jason shakes his head. “It’s… it’s not that.” Jason drops the bat to the dirt, leaning against the handle.

“Are you not feeling well?” Whizzer glances around the grounds, trying to see where the hell Marvin has gotten to. _Fuck._ He doesn’t know what to do with a sick kid. That’s Marvin’s or Trina’s area of expertise. He’s good for skinned knees and that’s about it.

Jason shakes his head again. “It’s not that either.”

Whizzer pushes off the fence and crouches in front of Jason. “Kiddo, if you don’t want to play baseball, you don’t have to. We’ll find something else to do together.” _Please don’t say chess. Please don’t say chess._

Another shake of his head leaves Whizzer utterly perplexed. He has no idea what could be wrong and, once again, periscopes his head while searching for Marvin. How long could it take for someone to find some goddamned ice? This is dad territory — not person married to Jason’s real dad territory. 

Because, no, Whizzer is not Step-Dad. Nosirree.

Then Jason leans in for a hug, nearly knocking Whizzer off-balance. He’s so surprised by the action that it takes Whizzer several heartbeats before he can return it. Jason has never been demonstrative with him—Whizzer has always assumed Jason was somewhere on the spectrum, but never asked Marvin because it never seemed like it was his place to know—so this hug is the greatest gift he could ever ask for. 

“What was that for?” Whizzer asks. Shit. Not the right thing to say. “I mean, thanks…?”

Christ, how to parent? Or to return a show of affection? Whizzer’s usual go-to moves certainly are not appropriate with kids. So kneeling in front of Jason with the kid pressed against him has him mentally scrambling. 

_Marvin where the fuck are you? Get your ass back here. Save me, you jackass._

“Whizzer?”

“Yeah, kid?”

Jason unwinds himself from the embrace, takes Whizzer’s hand, and tugs him toward the bench in the back of the cage. Whizzer shoves over their bags and coats, making room for the two of them to sit shoulder-to-shoulder. He watches the boy for a bit, smiling slightly as his mouth works, trying to find words. Whizzer understands that difficulty so he lets the kid go and gives him all the time and space he needs. (Hell, he remembers just how long it took him to say ‘I love you’ in return to Marvin.)

Around them, Whizzer hears the sounds of balls colliding with bats—aluminum and wood alike. He always loves to come here and the owners make sure that no one bothers him unless he wants to be bothered. In return, he’s often come up to run hitting clinics free of charge. 

See, Whizzer can be a softie when the moment is right.

“Whizzer…?” Jason asks again, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“Hmmm?”

“How did you meet dad anyway?”

Well that’s not what he was expecting to be asked. He figured it was something about baseball. And, well, the actual story isn’t appropriate for younger ears, so Whizzer just reiterates the “official” one again. 

“He kept stalking me outside the stadium—”

“Oh come off it,” Jason says, nudging Whizzer’s shoulder. “Whenever he took me to a game, he’d practically drag me out of there to beat the crowds back home. Half the time if we were either winning or losing by a large amount he’d want to leave by the seventh inning stretch. You weren’t even enough to get him to stay. I want to know the _real_ story.”

Okay, Jason has a point. Damn the kid is good. 

“At least he can’t run out on the games now!” Whizzer says, nudging Jason’s arm and ignoring the question. Though he’s tried. The last time he did it, he wound up the lead story on the MLB network for a week. 

“Well, if you’re not gonna say—” No, he is most certainly not. Not even when Jason’s older. “Then tell me how you knew he was the ‘one.’”

Like that question is any easier. But, at least, it’s less R-rated.

“I… don’t know if there was any specific moment. It’s not like there’s a bolt of lightning or choirs of angels singing when I realized.” Whizzer glances down at Jason who is clearly expecting something more than vagueness. “Okay, fine. A moment.” He closes his eyes, thinking back. The memory returns and Whizzer’s expression softens in a smile. “Well… we were riding the subway together. Back before I got recognized everywhere and we were just two guys out and about. Well, the car lurched, he fell into my lap… and I just _knew_. I knew I wanted to be with him and I never felt that before. With anyone. There was no one else I wanted to steady or keep from falling.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz you were a bit of a manwhore before dad,” Jason says through a fit of giggles.

“JASON! _Language_!”

“Well it’s true!”

“Which is utterly beside the point!” But Whizzer is laughing then, too, lightly kissing the top of Jason’s head.

He didn’t exactly have standards back then and slept his way through every town the Mets played. But that was then and, frankly, Whizzer hasn’t had any desire to stray. Not when he has Marvin waiting for him back home.

“Would… would you ever cheat on him?” Jason asks, back to all seriousness. 

The question cuts Whizzer, but he understands why it was asked. Because there are some blurred lines between when he and Marvin got together and when Marvin divorced Trina. Plus, well, Whizzer was never known as a paragon of virtue in the baseball world either. Occasionally he’s the subject of rumors here and there—one fueled by Marvin leaving a game early—but he’s been faithful and Marvin trusts him. The fact Jason needs to know… even needs to _ask_ hurts. But Jason’s already dealt with one broken home and it isn’t fair for him to have to have another. 

“I never would.” Whizzer’s voice is strong and he takes Jason’s hand in his larger one. “I love your dad,” he says. “I may not have ever wanted a family, but you both mean the world to me.”

Jason nods at that and he leans his head against Whizzer’s shoulder. Apparently he’s said all the right things — though he did speak from the heart. 

“Hey… Whizzer…?” Jason’s voice is hesitant. 

Oh god what _now_? Whizzer’s about hit the end of his ability to deal with über-emotional questions.

“Yeah, kid?”

“You think… maybe I could call you Dad sometimes? Not all the time. But… sometimes? Would that be okay?”

Whizzer is so stunned by the question he can barely breathe. He manages to squeak out a yes, squeezing Jason tight to his body. The soft little question means as much to him as Marvin’s ‘I do’ on their wedding day. It takes him a few moments longer before he can find his voice.

“I would be honored.”

***

It didn’t take long for Marvin to find a bag of ice for his bruised hand, but he lingered in the clubhouse all the same. It wasn’t often that Jason and Whizzer had time together like this, so he wanted to let the two bond.

At some point, when he wandered back to the cages, he spotted Whizzer and Jason talking with their heads bowed close together. Assuming, at first, that Whizzer is probably showing him some hitting video, he’s surprised when he catches snippets of their conversation.

“Would you ever cheat on him?” He hears Jason ask.

Fuck. He’s going to have to have a very long talk with Jason when they get home: both what is appropriate to ask Whizzer in general — and what he can ask about in public. Christ, anywhere else, someone would probably be recording the whole conversation…

“I never would.” God bless Whizzer for actually answering. He wouldn’t have blamed him if he changed the subject. “I love your dad. I may not have ever wanted a family, but you both mean the world to me.”

Marvin twists the band on his finger with a tiny smile on his face. Their relationship may have hit a few rocky patches here and there, but Marvin was glad they always managed to make it out stronger than ever. It hasn’t been the easiest life: forced to come out of the closet when he and Whizzer were caught in bed together then living his life under a microscope ever since. 

“You think… maybe I could call you Dad sometimes? Not all the time. But… sometimes? Would that be okay?”

Marvin freezes, paces away from the cage door. He doesn’t dare to move or even breathe; not wanting to interrupt this moment. He says a quiet prayer of the man who struggled with commitment not to fuck up. He’s surprised Jason brought this up — and never asked him first. He and Jason have talked about everything lately. 

The longer the silence stretches, the more concerned Marvin becomes. _Just say something. Anything._ He knows Whizzer never really wanted the whole white picket fence thing and a family. A second marriage wasn’t in _his_ cards if he’s wholly honest, but there are a lot of exceptions when it comes to Whizzer Brown. 

“I would be honored.”

A part of Marvin’s heart cracks open at the tone in Whizzer’s voice. Somehow, amidst the craziness of their courtship and marriage, they actually created a family. It strikes him, then, how different his life could have been if they met first. And, as he watches the way Whizzer and Jason fit together — he wonders if a second kid might be in their cards.

And if Whizzer ever asked, Marvin knows he’d say yes. It’s funny for all the missteps in his life, Marvin has finally managed to do something right. 

He clears his throat to announce his presence and opens the batting cage with a wave.

“You guys okay?” He asks, pretending he hasn’t overheard the last five minutes. 

“We’re great,” Jason says, bouncing off the bench to wrap his arms around Marvin’s waist.

Marvin lifts his eyebrows at Whizzer and his husband shakes his head ever so slightly as if to say they’ll talk later. He nods in response, offering a tiny smile.

“But Whizzer says I really should see someone else bat for a bit.”

“Okay, so… he can hit balls for a bit.”

“No, you!” Jason says, shoving the bat into Marvin’s hand. He fumbles with the bat and the bag of ice, looking at Whizzer with a panicked expression on his face.

“Well, I can’t argue with good ideas,” Whizzer says, shrugging. 

Which is how Marvin finds himself manhandled into the batters’ box while Jason laughs and cheers on Whizzer. Whizzer helps him into the stance, fitting his body behind Marvin’s. Without clothes on, their position is better suited for the bedroom — but here it’s so innocent that Marvin’s heart feels light. 

“Huh, so you do have to stand close to the plate,” Marvin mutters under his breath.

“Finally, he speaks sense.”

Behind him, he hears Jason drop coins into the machine and it whirrs to life, sending a ball flying at his head. Marvin lets out a shout of surprise, but with Whizzer’s arms around him, the two men guide the bat to connect with the ball in a resounding crack. It sails, relatively straight, and Jason cheers.

Marvin turns his head, stealing a quick kiss. When Whizzer doesn’t pull away and Marvin gives himself over and allows the kiss to deepen — even as the next seven balls go whizzing by their heads. 

For the first time in his life, it feels like everything is going to be all right.

**Author's Note:**

> I have such a thing for Baseball AUs and I totally want to write more in this universe. As always, if you liked this — kudos and comments are love for a writer as are reblogs!


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